A ROSE
Too-perfect Rose, thy heavy breath has powerTo wake a dim, an unexplained regret:Art body to the soul of some deep hourThat all my seasons have not yielded yet?But if it be so—Hour, too-perfect Hour,Ah, blow not full, though all the yearning daysShould tremble bud-like, since the wind must showerThine unreturning grace along the ways!
Too-perfect Rose, thy heavy breath has powerTo wake a dim, an unexplained regret:Art body to the soul of some deep hourThat all my seasons have not yielded yet?But if it be so—Hour, too-perfect Hour,Ah, blow not full, though all the yearning daysShould tremble bud-like, since the wind must showerThine unreturning grace along the ways!
Too-perfect Rose, thy heavy breath has powerTo wake a dim, an unexplained regret:Art body to the soul of some deep hourThat all my seasons have not yielded yet?
Too-perfect Rose, thy heavy breath has power
To wake a dim, an unexplained regret:
Art body to the soul of some deep hour
That all my seasons have not yielded yet?
But if it be so—Hour, too-perfect Hour,Ah, blow not full, though all the yearning daysShould tremble bud-like, since the wind must showerThine unreturning grace along the ways!
But if it be so—Hour, too-perfect Hour,
Ah, blow not full, though all the yearning days
Should tremble bud-like, since the wind must shower
Thine unreturning grace along the ways!